Prey
by lovesdaryl
Summary: Daryl and Michonne are out looking for the Governor and find more than they signed up for.
1. Chapter 1

He had no idea what had led him to be optimistic. Why the fuck should anything work out the way he'd hoped it would? When had anything ever done that? Why had he been expecting their search for that Blake asshole to be any different? They were probably never going to find him simply because he, Daryl Dixon, was one of those searching for him.

It was their second time out. If anything, Michonne was even more determined than he was to find the jackass for what he'd done to Andrea. Whatever the relationship between the two women had been - he sure as fuck was no expert on human interaction, never had been -, it had probably been less complicated than what he himself had had with Merle, and hating Philipp fuckin' Blake for killing her was bound to be easier than hating him over Merle, who had left and betrayed him as a child and had continued putting him down as an adult.

Being separated from his older brother for quite some time and living in the company of people who actually respected him and appreciated what he could bring to their group had opened his eyes to the way his brother had kept him down all his life even as he'd pretended to be all supportive and helpful. Nevertheless, losing him and having to put down his walker had hurt some part of himself that might never heal because, even though Merle had abandoned him as a kid, before that he had been the only one to stand between him and their dad, the only one to defend him and keep him from harm, sometimes at great personal cost to himself.

Of course, that had changed once Merle had been gone. The fuckin' marks on his body could testify to that.

Nevertheless, he'd make Blake pay for shooting Merle in the stomach to kill and then letting him turn. The image of his brother's bloodshot, empty, yellowed eyes and expressionless gray face as he'd advanced on him to mindlessly try and rip into his flesh would haunt him until the day he died, and he'd get his revenge for this even if it was the last thing he did.

During their last run and this one, they'd searched a total of five villages in the vicinity of the prison for any signs of Phillip "The Governor" Blake without any results. They had found supplies - food, weapons, ammunition, bloody farming gear and seeds for Rick - but had not encountered any people, nor found any signs of current human inhabitants in any of the houses they'd searched.

While preparing to go into this village's last house to be cleared - him with his loaded crossbow aimed at the door that she was opening - they had decided to go back after this one. Getting to the next town would take too much time plus take them away from their home so far that they'd have to stay out for another night and day which they weren't prepared for. Also, Rick wasn't at the top of his game again yet, so they were needed back at the prison as well. People were expecting them back today.

Carol was expecting him back today.

As the last house had turned out to be as empty as the others before it, they were on their way back to the pickup they'd taken out this time around within a matter of minutes. The first time they'd taken the pea green Hyunday and had ended up cramming the stuff they'd found into every nook and cranny to the point where they'd hardly been able to pull out their seat belts for the return trip. This time out, the pickup was loaded to the brim as well, but as it was bigger overall they still had room for themselves.

They were walking down the street in companionable silence, side by side, within view of the train tracks that ran parallel to their street behind the row of houses they were walking along. As they had already cleared this street they were slightly more relaxed now than on their way in, but still looking into the alleys and smaller roads they were passing, just in case they had missed anything the first time. As he wasn't paying any attention to the ground he never noticed the fucking utility shaft cover, half hidden under leaves and sand and ribbons of soil left behind in the wake of a rainstorm, until it gave way under his weight as he stepped on its corner.

It all went down way too fast to keep track of what was happening. One moment he was walking down the road next to Michonne, the next he was standing in a utility shaft slightly more than knee-deep, with the cover standing on its edge, suspended on two of its corners, after the upper corner had hit him in the left thigh like a sledgehammer while swinging up, numbing the inside of his thigh on impact and nearly knocking his hip joint out of its socket.

Looking down, he expected his pants leg to be drenched in blood already, but to his surprise there didn't actually seem to be any injury as he didn't see any blood. Only his pants seemed to be torn up where the cover had hit. Curious to see if the skin had been broken at all, he lifted the flap of fabric and let go of it again just as quickly, acid and a sick feeling of dread pooling in his stomach.

Michonne had whirled about to face him at the crash of the cover flipping up and his feet hitting the ground inside the damn hole, narrowly missing the pipes and valves the shaft gave access to - and what fun it would have been to fracture both his feet and legs on that shit -, and now she came rushing toward him, sword still raised high in a defensive position, to help him out of the shaft.

Just as he tentatiely set his left foot on the ground to test if he could still stand and walk on his leg, a single gunshot rang out. Next, a voice called out to them, its owner clearly male and young and eager to prove himself. „Flat on the ground, face down, arms above your head - both of ya!"


	2. Chapter 2

With a quick glance at Michonne he reassured himself that, just like him, she had absolutely no intention of obeying that command. He slowly raised his hands, his right still holding his crossbow, as if to prepare to go down on his knees prior to lying down as ordered. „Behind us", he muttered, careful to move his lips as little as possible in case there was a sharpshooter rifle aimed at them from ahead. „You drive - I can't, with the leg." She hummed her consent.

With a clucking sound to get her going simultaneously, he practically threw himself across the last few yards separating him from the passenger door of their pickup, yanking it open and getting behind the door at once as the gun started spitting bullets at him from behind. At the same time, Michonne raced around the front of the vehicle to get to the driver's door, and he hoped fervently that nobody was covering that side of the truck.

Splinters of asphalt peppered his door and hit the window as he fell into the seat, cradling his crossbow and closing the door. Then a bullet hit the door directly and a shaft of light suddenly illuminated his seat as he yelled at Michonne to get going. She didn't even bother to close her door before turning the key in the ignition, almost breaking it in her eagerness to start the car, and they took off with tires screeching.

Looking into the rearview mirror on his side he saw a slim shape rushing out from behind the hedge around that last house they had cleared to stand in the middle of the road, aiming at them, and he wanted to kick himself for being so negligent. He had almost gotten the two of them killed simply because he hadn't thought to check out the garden. Another burst of gunshots from behind them, with one bullet hitting the bed of their truck, and then they were around the nearest corner and out of sight of the gunman for the time being.

Swerving around a jumble of trashcans that had tumbled over and landed in the street, Michone raced toward the main road leading out of town and toward the highway, her eyes on the street ahead and only occasionally flicking to her rearview mirrors to see if they were being followed. So far, neither of them could see any sign of other vehicles chasing after them, but they had no intention of slowing down before they'd reached the safety of the prison. At the same time, they needed to make sure they wouldn't be followed back - the Governor was quite enough of a threat and they certainly didn't need to bring down another menace on themselves.

With a tense look over at her, he shifted in his seat and his eyes fell to his left thigh and the tear in his pants, reminding him of his injury. The adrenaline coursing through his body had numbed the pain and he hadn't felt or even remembered that he'd hurt himself. Although he doubted that the car's emergency kit would suffice for what was hiding under that flap of his pants, he carefully lifted it again to check if he'd done any additional damage to it. He dimly remembered that there were some fuckin' large blood vessels in the thighs and he had no idea how close he'd come to tearing them.

Sticking to his torn-up pants was a large flap of skin and tissue, and when he lifted it along with the flap of fabric he looked into what seemed to be a pocket-like hole torn into the fatty tissue on the inside of his thigh. The dirt that had all but hidden the cover before he'd stepped onto it had ended up smashed into the wound and was now sticking to the inside of the damn hole like a bloody lining. Surprisingly, there was little blood - just a rim of tiny bright red beads glistening in the sun along the torn edge of the skin - and next to no pain, apart from the deep, grinding ache in his hip and knee joints - but that was probably still due to his high adrenaline level right now. He couldn't imagine that a hole like that, torn into his body, was not going to hurt like a bitch.

„That was a trap", Michonne said matter-of-factly with a glance at his thigh. „They needed us distracted, so they prepared that utility cover to flip up on its edge as soon as someone stepped on it. I bet they never counted on you to still make a run for it after that fall." He grunted, reaching down under his seat for the first aid kit. Opening it, he got what he needed and started taking care of his wound, first spraying it with disinfectant without bothering to even try to remove any of the dirt, and then bandaging it on top of his pants, complete with the flap of fabric as additional protection. The pain in his joints and the thigh muscle hidden unter the torn skin was cranking up a notch now that his leg was being handled, but he dared not take anything for it as he had no idea what their attackers still had in store for them - and never mind the fact that Merle's good example hat put him off any and all kinds of pills, even those that the doctor ordered.

Once he was done with his leg, he made sure that his crossbow was still loaded, ready to fire, and that his bolts hadn't been damaged during his dive into the car before looking behind them once again. „'m sure that's not the last we seen a them -„ he began just as a car shot out at them from the street they were passing, its engine howling and with the person in the passenger seat leaning out and taking aim. „SHIT!" Daryl yelled, reaching behind his seat to grab the rifle he had stowed away there. He used the rifle's butt to smash out the window and then leaned out himself, aiming behind them and taking potshots at their pursuers.

Michonne kept swerving right and left, using the entire width of the street to make targeting them more difficult, but of course this also served to throw off Daryl's aim and he wasn't sure he even managed to hit the car, let alone do any damage. Reaching another corner, they skidded around it, leaving rubber marks on the street, and she worked furiously to keep the car from going over the side or flipping over. „Where do we go?" she called out desperately over the roar of their car's engine and the deafening sound of his rifle.

„Past the safe house over in that shit of a flyspeck village down south", he called back, pulling his trigger again before rooting around for a fresh clip. „Try to gain enough ground so I can get out and hide somewhere, might be able ta take 'em out as they pass me - they'll never know what hit 'em." She nodded, concentrating too hard to answer, letting the car screech its way onto the highway.

Two cars with an unknown number of people in them were following them as they raced down the highway, the second one gaining continously and finally overtaking the one that had come at them from the side street. Daryl was on his third clip by the time they reached the small town where one of their safe houses was located, and they had just enough time when they reached it for him to get out and drop out of sight in the middle of the carefully arranged group of bushes on the front lawn before the lead car screamed around the corner in the distance, gaining seriously now that Michonne had slowed down almost to a standstill. Ramming home a fresh clip and nudging his crossbow so that it hung squarely on his back, well out of the way and secured against swinging forward, Daryl parted the bushes with his rifle and took aim.

His bullet smashed through the windshield on the passenger side and blood and other unsavory things splattered across all windows in the front as the passenger's head disintegrated. The car swung wildly across the street as the terrified driver jerked the steering wheel to the left. Daryl only allowed himself a brief, fierce baring of his teeth before reloading and taking aim again just as the second car came around the corner, its passenger once more hanging out the window with the rifle at the ready, Michonne still a promising target as she took the next turn right.

Making a valiant attempt to keep his hands steady, Daryl centered his crosshairs over the head of the second car's passenger, exhaled slowly and gently pulled the trigger. This time, the car's windows were sprayed from the outside as the passenger dropped his rifle and slumped over the side of the car, his head a shapeless red mass.

The next moment the car screeched to a halt, the driver's door and both doors in the back opening as three men got out, all of them armed, and started searching for the sniper who'd killed two of their men.


	3. Chapter 3

As Michonne cut the corner on her right turn, she saw that the second car had stopped and all of its occupants were getting out to go after Daryl. As he'd only dropped out of the car and ducked into the bushes on the front lawn of their safe house, she had no idea what shape he was in or if he'd be able to take on three men on his own. She had no time to worry about him, however, as she still had a car to lose.

Flooring the gas pedal, she gained speed again, racing down the street as she frantically thought about what to do now. She needed to lose the people tracking her and get back to Daryl to help him out. Taking another right, she realized that she was going to pass the safe house on the back now and would have a chance to check on the situation there.

But as she came upon the house she nearly froze in terror when she saw a large group of walkers, no doubt lured by the gunshots, making its slow, shuffling way toward the front lawn, passing the house on both sides and inexorably getting closer to Daryl who, busy with the three goons from the second car, might not even notice them until it was too late. He had an open wound that, while not bleeding badly and covered by a bandage, was nevertheless sure to get their attention sooner or later.

What to do?

Trying to catch a glimpse of him in the bushes he was hiding in as she passed, she honked the horn, hoping to draw the walkers back onto the street - or at least a few of them, even if it wasn't the whole group. But only four stragglers near the tail end mindlessly turned at the sound of her horn to shamble back out onto the street again, forgetting the earlier racket that had brought them here in the first place. While her ruse hadn't been the rousing success she'd hoped it would be, at least it meant that Daryl had four less walkers to deal with as he simultaneously tried to fend off three live attackers who were out to get him.

This didn't do at all. Glancing into her rearview mirror to make sure that the walkers were still following her, she spotted not only them but also the remaining car swinging onto her street to continue the chase. With a sigh she accelerated again, desperately scanning the houses to the left and right for a good place to go into hiding once she found an opportunity to get out of their truck.

When she reached the end of the road, with a left and a right turn her only options, she took a left, toward the railroad tracks. Thankfully, the crossing was open and she sped across the tracks, entering the last row of houses before the town petered out into forests and fields again. Just as she took another left, into an unpaved lane between the tracks and the houses, she saw the car chasing her coming around the corner behind her. Damn, they were just in time to spot her going left and continue following her.

Several shots rang out from back where Daryl was stuck between a group of walkers and a group of people hunting him, but she couldn't tell from the sound of the shots if it had been his rifle or not. Worried that she would be too late if she lost any more time, she sped down the road, took a right where it ended, another right toward the back of the houses, right at the edge of the forest, and then parked the truck in the driveway of the very first house.

Getting out, she quickly ducked between that house and the next and started making her way back first to the railroad tracks and then to the row of houses where Daryl was hiding out. Peering out from behind the hedge running along the fence between the two houses, she waited for the car to pass her and watched it make a left turn, going the wrong way, back toward Daryl, before stealthily crossing the tracks and moving into the back yard of the house three down from where Daryl was stuck.

She listened for the retreating sound of the engine before moving again. She didn't want to go directly to their safe house but come around from the side, hoping to catch Daryl's three assailants from the back. Quietly moving around to the front of the house, she kept moving from bush to hedge to rotting lawn chair, remaining hidden as much as possible and pausing often to listen.

Twice more, she heard gunshots but once again was unable to tell if it had been Daryl firing his rifle or if it had been one of his attackers. While she was hiding on the porch of the second house, only two houses down from him now, she heard the car coming back and swinging into her road. Quickly she slid behind a flimsy trashcan screen - and just in time, for she saw it passing her by through the latticework on the screen's top edge. She kept watching and listening, afraid they might decide to stop as well and help the group hunting Daryl.

Just then she heard the moans of the first walkers coming around the side of the houses to follow the enticing sounds of dinner. Whoever was firing that rifle kept forgetting that sound would draw them as surely as moths were drawn to flames, which almost had her convinced that it wasn't Daryl who was making such a racket. He was far too cautious for that and would opt for a silent solution whenever possible. She was relieved that he had his crossbow and his buck knife with him and hoped that his fall hadn't incapacitated him too much to use them both.

Her knees went weak with relief when she heard the engine moving away again without decelerating. Apparently, at least this time around, its occupants had decided it was still worth their while to keep searching for Michonne instead of joining forces with the group that was after Daryl. Or maybe the walkers making their slow way toward the front lawns of this row of houses had deterred them. It didn't really matter what their reasons were, so long as they kept chasing ghosts instead of helping to corral Daryl who was in enough trouble as it was.

Peering through the latticework of her screen, she tried to spot him on the other side of the house that was between them, but no such luck. He was nowhere to be seen, which was both good and bad. If she didn't see him, maybe the group attempting to stealthily make its way across the lawn unnoticed - two of whom she saw without even trying - wouldn't see him either. On the downside, it would make joining up with him that much more difficult.

She just hoped that his wound still wasn't bleeding, despite the rough treatment it was getting. If he started smelling of copious amounts of fresh blood there was no way the walkers were not going to notice him, and there were so many that she doubted his bolts would be enough. He couldn't risk using his rifle for fear of bringing even more of them down on himself, and she doubted that he'd be able to take them all on with his knife with his leg injuried - she had no idea in how much pain he was and she hadn't really seen him walk since he'd taken that fall.

The bushes on the other side of her screen rustled as a walker stepped in front of her, sniffing the air and then turning its head to stare through the latticework with its yellowed dead eyes - directly at her.


	4. Chapter 4

Daryl first noticed that a small herd of walkers was approaching him when he heard the first of them crashing through the bushes that he was hiding in, breaking twigs and getting its feet tangled in the dense growth near the ground. He had his three live stalkers pinned down, certain that they wouldn't change position now with the walkers approaching, and risked a glance over his shoulder to see how many of them were coming.

His heart sped up at the sight of at least half a dozen coming at him on his side of the house, and moans from the shrubs behind those that he saw, and with two more already stumbling from behind the opposite corner of their safe house. From the sounds he kept hearing from that corner it was a safe bet that more were approaching there - and with the bloody idiots coming at him still shooting occasionally, there was really no end in sight as the damn noise would keep drawing more.

Looking down, he quickly checked his bandage and was relieved to find it still clean which meant that his wound still wasn't bleeding. That might be about to change, though, with what he had in mind next. He slid his knife out of its sheath without a sound, holding it at the ready in his right hand.

Raising his head once more, he let his eyes flick to each of his would-be attackers' hiding places, relieved to still find their sillhouettes clearly visible behind the bushes they had crouched behind. Those stupid dicks actually believed that he was as much of an idiot as them and would still fire a gun, now that he was out in the open instead of protected in a car. Therefore, they didn't dare venture out of hiding to find a spot from which they'd be able to actually see their prey.

He was going to make use of the fact that they assumed he would shoot them on sight, as well as the added advantage of them not knowing his exact position right now. If he'd been asked to place a bet, he would have guessed that they hadn't even pinned down the property he was hiding on and it was pure dumb luck that they were even within sight.

A number of decorative rocks were arranged in what was supposed to look like a natural arrangement in the flower-rimmed clump of bushes he was hiding in, and he picked up the smallest of the rocks for the oldest trick in the book, lobbing it over the hedge in his back to create a rustling noise one garden over. Like the stupid brainless fucks they were, the three loonies fell for it and reacted at once.

"You hear that? He's over there, just beyond that hedge!" One of them, the one with just a handgun instead of an actual long-range rifle, jumped up from behind his bush and ran for the hedge. Daryl looked back over his shoulder once more to see two walkers bearing down on the guy as soon as he started making noises. Instead of trying to escape quietly, the moron actually screamed, luring another of the walkers on this side of the house and one from across the lawn toward him. So far, this was going even better than he'd expected.

He looked back toward the other two guys and found one of them moving away from him, across the front lawn, but then saw him take a few rapid steps backwards when another three walkers came shambling around the corner of the house that he was making for. Daryl had to give him credit for creativity - the guy had probably meant to circle around the back of the house and come at him from behind, not realizing that there would be walkers everywhere by now, drawn by their noise.

This one was bright enough to remain quiet as he tried to get away, but just then the third of them started hissing out from where he was still hiding behind his bush. „Come back here, Johnson, don't let them get you! We need to find that goddamn guy with the crossbow or we might as well stay out here. Gareth will have our hides if he finds out we almost had two people but lost them!"

Daryl frowned. That name had never come up in any of their interactions with Woodbury. As far as he knew, the Governor's name was Philip Blake, or at least that was what Andrea had told them. Who then was this Gareth bloke? Was he one of Blake's lieutenants? He was certain that none of the Woodbury folks living at the prison now had ever mentioned that name - it was too distinctive to forget. Or was this an entirely new, different group? And Johnson? Did he recall hearing that name recently? But it was far too frequent anyway so that actually remembering anyone being called that wouldn't tell him anything.

Gareth … No, he didn't remember that one coming up even in passing. And „we almost had two people"? Who the fuck were these guys? What were they out for? This almost sounded like they hunted people down for some reason to take them back to their camp - but what might that reason be? Nothing good, he'd bet. He needed to get rid of them, and soon.

He heard the second car swinging around again out there, the sound of its engine getting louder once more. It was coming back, and he had no idea if it was just the driver now, since he'd shot the passenger, or if there were more people in that one as well. And where the hell had Michonne gone? How was he supposed to look out for people who kept running about like crazed chickens in their coop? Then again, he had to give Michonne some credit - she was certainly creative in taking care of herself, so he probably had no reason to worry on that front.

With another quick glance he reassured himself that his assailants were pretty busy with the walkers they had brought down upon themselves. The first one, the guy who had fallen for the stone rustling through the twigs on the other side of the hedge, was still trying to get away from the walkers following him. At least the stupid fuck had stopped screaming, but he was still whimpering with fear as he kept backing away from the small group trailing him. Following his path with his eyes, Daryl saw that his ass was going to connect with a fire hydrant pretty soon which would probably spell doom for him.

The second guy who had tried to go around the house at first was now trying to hide again, making an effort to be as silent as possible, but the walkers hadn't lost him yet. He'd need to work some more on that, but for the time being he wasn't going to give Daryl any trouble.

The third, whose hissing had lured the walkers following the second one now, was busy slithering away from his companion instead of helping him. Daryl watched in disgust as he crept toward the hedge separating this garden from the next one over into which Daryl had thrown his stone. If he'd had the time and didn't actually need these guys distracted and occupied elsewhere, keeping the walkers busy for him, he would have shown him what having to fend for yourself without backup felt like, but for now he was just relieved that he was free to get going again right now.

Moving slowly and quietly, being extra careful when he put his weight on his injured leg, he stood and made sure that none of the walkers had noticed him. Tightening the strap of his crossbow across his chest so it wouldn't swing down and get in his way, he ducked out of his flower bed and made for the side of the safe house where he knew there was a large table with lawn chairs arranged around it standing right under a balcony jutting out from the second floor master bedroom.

He kept moving behind trees and bushes whenever they were anywhere near to remain covered against both walkers and people. Just as he disappeared around the near corner of the house, with the lawn furniture only about six more yards away from him, he heard the walkers ripping into First Guy and winced at the man's terrified, agonized screams as he was being torn apart with his so-called friends looking on and trying to get away from it all. This more than anything else really showed him what these people were like and what they could expect from them. All the more incentive to make certain not one of them survived this.

Reaching the table, he first rammed his knife into a lone walker's right eye to the hilt just as it raised its left hand and the stump of its right arm to reach for him, horribly reminding him of Merle, and then scrabbled onto the table as qietly as he could, using his free hand to pull his trailing left leg up after himself. Standing on the table, he wiped his knife on his pants, careful to keep it away from the bandage on his left leg, and then slid it into its sheath on his belt as he looked back over his shoulder once more to make absolutely certain that nobody was watching him.

Just then, he saw two things that almost made him stop.

He spotted the crown of Michonne's head behind the latticework of one of those screens people used to hide their trashcans behind, with a walker staring straight at her through that same latticework.

And he saw the car stopping in front of the house two feet from where first guy was getting devoured on the sidewalk next to the fire hydrant, with the driver's door swinging open.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl moves up in life while the garden gets more populated by the minute - if not in ways that Daryl and Michonne would prefer. Enjoy!

Not daring to move, Michonne held her breath, staring at the walker right in front of her. Not since getting assaulted in front of the prison fence when first arriving there with the formula left behind by Maggie and Glenn had she been this close to one, and it drove home again how truly terrifying they were. Its dead eyes never registered her as she remained absolutely motionless, and she counted herself lucky that she had not a scratch on her, despite her antics with the car and crawling her way here through several gardens. Scratches were bad. Scratches could get you killed either way - those from walkers or those drawing walkers to you.

After a full minute, the walker turned its head when screams started coming from the garden of their safe house. Angling its head, it turned fully and started moving off. Goosebumps rose all over Michonne's body, but she quickly realized it wasn't Daryl screaming. For one thing, he wouldn't have screamed in the first place, even if he was being eaten. With nobody in sight to help him and her still off on a car chase for all he knew, he would probably have driven his knife into his own temple to keep himself from turning. She shuddered briefly while she slowly and silently moved so she could look over the hedge and into the garden of their safe house, not in hopes of spying whoever was still screaming there, but fervently hoping to finally spot Daryl.

It turned out that spotting Daryl was not so difficult any longer, what with him just climbing onto the table under the second floor balcony facing her and staring right back at her after briefly looking around. He rolled his eyes toward the street dramatically, and when she followed his line of sight she saw the car that had been searching for her until now standing at the curb with the driver and one passenger from the back seat getting out and hiding behind it. She raised one hand and signalled for Daryl to finish what he was doing. She would try to take care of the car guys and wait for him to cover her once he was up.

Placing her right hand on the handle of her katana, she ducked behind her screen and then quietly sneaked around it and onto the front lawn, making sure to keep hidden from the latest arrivals to their party. Stepping beyond the corner of the house, she quickly looked to her left and saw two more walkers shambling toward her between the house and the hedge. Swiftly stepping up to them, she swung her katana once, twice, decapitating them in quick succession, before moving behind the walker that had cozied up to her at the screen which was now on its way to the hedge separating her from Daryl.

.-.

After he'd alerted Michonne to the car having stopped and its two occupants also going after him now, Daryl stayed in place for a moment longer to watch the walker that had her staked out turn its head in the direction of First Guy's blood curdling screams before shambling off to join the festivities. As soon as its head was turned, Michonne started moving stealthily from behind her screen, ducking out of sight. Assuming that she would come through the hedge and take their attackers on from behind, he looked up at the balcony above his head.

Time to get moving.

Despite his left hip and knee aching fiercely by now from the blow to his thigh that had nearly knocked the bone out of place, he managed to stand on tiptoe and maintain his balance on his good leg long enough to reach up with his left hand as far as he could, only just catching hold of the railing of the balcony. His fingers closed around the wrought iron and he started pulling himself up, his bicep bulging. Just when he started wondering if this was going to work at all, the fingertips of his right hand brushed the bottom of the balcony. This energized him enough to make that tiny bit of extra effort it took to reach the railing with that hand as well, grasp it and start pulling in earnest.

Groaning with exertion, sweat rolling down his face and off his chest and back, he brought his face up to the height of the balcony and pulled his right leg up with a whimper, hooking it behind one of the stakes of the railing. This accomplished, he managed to bring up his whole body, holding himself parallel to the floor of the balcony now so he could lace both arms through the railing and lock them around several of the stakes to hold himself in place for a few seconds and catch his breath. This was a precarious moment. He was out of the reach of walkers - or at least he hoped so -, but if one of his armed attackers spotted him in this helpless position, stuck halfway between firm ground and the balcony he was trying to get onto, he was a goner. He only had one chance at this as his strength was failing fast and the walkers wouldn't keep his stalkers busy forever.

His whole body was aching with exertion, his arm muscles screaming, his left leg going numb now, but he wasn't done yet. Forcing himself to unlock his right arm, he reached up again, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm and back muscles, and brushed the handrail once … twice … three times, before finally managing to hook his fingers around it on the fourth try. Putting any weight on his injured leg at this impossible angle would be a lost cause from the word go, so he braced his weight with his left arm, inched his right foot out from between the two stakes it was wedged in between and jerked it up to wedge it back in again closer to his left hand, slowly getting his body into a position from which he could rise to his feet.

.-.

Michonne was still following the walker that had stared at her through the trashcan screen like a shadow, using the noise it was making to mask her own sounds as she moved through the garden toward the hedge separating her from Daryl. The pitiful screaming was still continuing on the other side but growing more ragged now, muffled from time to time as the dying man was probably trying to hide his face from the teeth snapping at him. Her skin crawled as she imagined being in his place. Giving him her sword before it ended would be pure mercy, she knew, and she found herself hoping that her path would lead her close enough so she'd be able to put him out of his misery. Whatever they had been trying to do, no human being deserved to die like this.

Looking at the balcony on the other side of the hedge, she saw Daryl hanging precariously from the outside of the railing, reaching for the handrail at the top with his right hand. She winced, thinking of his injured leg, and marveled at the way he managed to keep going. This dude was certainly a survivor if she'd ever seen one, and seeing him go all out for her and himself here, she wondered what a force of nature he'd become if he had to defend his woman back at the prison. Getting between him and Carol in a live or die situation would certainly not be a good idea.

Her guide walker was just entering the hedge, creating an incredible racket as it mindlessly pushed through the interwoven branches, breaking off twigs in its wake and making the dry leaves rustle all the way up and down the hedge. Following close behind, Michone got her first good look into the garden she was headed for. She saw one man backing away from three walkers following him across the front lawn and another crawling back toward the street on his hands and ass. A man and a woman, both carrying handguns, probably the driver and remaining passenger of the car that had chased her after Daryl had gotten out, were approaching from there, passing their mewling comrade in arms who was still getting eaten alive by four walkers.

Doing a quick headcount, she realized that this was it. These were the last surviving members of their group of attackers.

Time to play.


	6. Chapter 6

Slick with sweat, his fingers threatened to slip off the handrail as he grabbed it and started pulling himself upright, but he managed to lock his fingers around it at the very last instant, closing his eyes for a moment. It couldn't end like this. He couldn't die here, at the hands of assholes who still didn't know that screaming when a walker was approaching you would only make things worse. He had so much left to say, so much left to do … He had to go on.

When his left hand also closed around the handrail he let out the breath he'd been holding in an explosive huff as he balanced on his good leg, then bent down, agony exploding down his spine, and grabbed his bad leg with his left hand to yank it up and over the railing. It had gone completely numb by now, but much to his surprise the bandage around his thigh was still without bloodstains - although it was quite dirty by now. As he doubted that his injured leg would take his weight at this point, he sat on the railing to lift his right leg over it before crouching down on the balcony and swinging his crossbow down over his shoulder, making sure it was still loaded and ready to fire.

Scanning the garden, he saw First Guy, probably dead by now because he couldn't hear him any longer, still being swarmed by his walker followers, Second Guy backing toward the street with his three walker fanclub in tow, Third Guy trying to disappear into the bushes from a gaggle of stragglers just shambling their way onto the front lawn, and a man and a woman passing First Guy on their way from their car into the garden without so much as glancing down at him. They seemed remarkably unconcerned, not trying to hide from the walkers just coming in from behind the house nor even trying to find him and Michonne.

The woman fisted Second Guy in the back, raised her revolver and shot the three walkers following him in the heads. She was fast, Daryl had to give her that. He wondered when the walkers that had surely been lured by these new shots would show up to join the party. Second Guy started blubbering hysterically, turning around to face the woman and trying to speak, but he was too far away for Daryl to make out what he was saying. The new male arrival from the second car backhanded him across the face, yelling at him. „Get a grip, man! This ain't nothin', compared to what's happening if we return without those two assholes!"

Again, Daryl wondered about their leader as he took aim and centered his crossbow on Second Car Driver, letting his bolt fly. It sure seemed these guys were more afraid of their leader than of the walkers. In light of recent events with the Governor, this did not bode well for any future encounters with the man. Blake was a complete nutcase, keeping his walker daughter chained up in his room, experimenting on walkers in a science lab and siccing walkers on people in his arena. Not even his people had been overly afraid of him, as far as he knew, which made this Gareth guy extra scary. If there was any way to pull it off at all, he wanted to make sure that none of these folks would live to tell this tale back home.

.-.

Michonne's skin crawled when she realized, going into hiding behind a clump of bushes near the hedge while her guide walker stumbled off in the direction of the three buddies reuniting on the front lawn, that the guy dying next to the fire hydrant had fallen silent. This would save her the time she would have needed to put him down, but even though he had been an adversary, knowing that he had died like this was horrible. Her dreams would certainly be vivid during the coming nights - as if they needed any more of that.

Looking up at the balcony, she didn't see Daryl any longer and hoped he had just dropped out of sight and would now cover her with whatever weapons he had taken up there with him. Just as she was about to look back at the three people standing on the front lawn again, there was a rushing sound and the soft twang of the bowstring as a bolt shot out from between two of the stakes of the balcony railing, whooshed across the lawn and embedded itself in the head of the man who had just exited the second car to join the guy trailed by three walkers. He dropped like a stone without a single sound, the bolt sticking in his eye. Goosebumps rose on her arms both with exhilaration that one more enemy was down and with relief that Daryl was on her side. Going up against him and his crossbow had to be absolutely terrifying.

Three left, and she'd have to make sure to get her share before Daryl picked them all off from his excellent vantage point.

Careful to remain out of sight, she silently made her way along the hedge toward the guy still crawling backward on his hands and ass. Apparently he was so terrified that the news that his friends from the other car had arrived hadn't come through yet. As her erstwhile guide walker along with the reinforcements still joining the fray from behind the house were still making enough noise to cover her approach, he never knew what hit him. One moment he was blubbering on the ground, staring from dead car guy to fire hydrant guy as if hypnotized, the next he dropped dead, with his head rolling toward the hedge and Michonne crouching behind him, sword dripping.

Another whoosh of air, and car woman fell with a bolt through her neck. No use waiting any longer now. The guy who had been running from the three walkers that car woman had shot would realize any moment now where the crossbow bolts were coming from, and Daryl was a sitting duck up there. She could see him clearly from where she was standing now, and so, if he just took the trouble to turn around, would the last guy left standing of the group of three on the lawn.

Michonne rushed out, her katana raised over her shoulder, had a fleeting impression of eyes widened in stark terror as they looked at her, and then swung, taking off the guy's head before guiding her sword down in a graceful arc to stab car woman through the eye staring up at her in death, making sure she wouldn't turn.

It was done.

Looking up at the balcony, she saw that Daryl had slumped over his crossbow and realized that, after dealing with walkers on the ground and then climbing up there, his time might be running out now. Taking out guide walker and his arriving friends along the way, she rushed over to the table under the balcony and softly called out to him. „Stay up there, Daryl, I'll get the car. There are more walkers coming, you'll be safer on the balcony."

No answer.

**AN**

Thank you for reading, favoring, following and reviewing, you're awesome!


	7. Chapter 7

Grinding her teeth in frustration, Michonne set out toward the back of the house, the railroad tracks, the last row of houses, where she had parked their truck. As she took down walkers left and right along her way she fervently hoped she wouldn't be too late.

Taking the car back to their safe house, she didn't see any more walkers or living people who might have followed their attackers at a distance. She briefly considered taking all of the bodies littering the garden now somewhere else as the fresh meat would, of course, draw still more walkers. However, she abandoned that idea not only because it didn't make too much sense - after all, they had no way of controlling what happened here when they weren't around, and people could fight and die here again tomorrow - but mainly because she needed to get Daryl back to the prison as quickly as possible now.

Driving straight up onto the front lawn, she stopped the truck next to the table and got out. „Daryl!" she hissed up toward the balcony, looking around to make sure that more walkers weren't headed her way.

He still didn't answer. Her heart sank.

„Daryl! I got the car, it's right under the balcony now, I'm coming up to get you."

No answer.

„Listen, Daryl, that's me coming up now, don't shoot", she continued as she carefully placed her katana behind the passenger seat of their truck, leaving the door open for him, and climbed onto the table. She shuddered at the thought that he'd had to do all of this with just one good leg. He had to be completely done in up there.

For a moment she froze in place on the table as she realized that she'd probably have to get him down on her own if he was truly out for the count. Looking around frantically, she tried to find something, anything, that she could use to help with that. Her eyes fell on the charis around the table, and she quickly got down from the table again and grabbed one of them, lifting it up and centering it on the table. This would provide her with a way station for Daryl on the way back down.

With the chair up there anyway, she might as well make use of it herself. From the table, she climbed the chair, then grabbed the balcony railing and pulled herself up. Panting, she hoisted herself over the railing, landing in a crouch beside him, and wondered again how he'd done it.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him. He seemed to have more or less collapsed on top of his crossbow, his quiver beside him on the floor, one finger still curled around the bow's trigger, his left hand still supporting the stock as if he were taking aim. His eyes were closed, with his sweaty hair hanging into them, and if she hadn't seen his chest rise and fall and heard his breath wheezing into and out of his lungs with a rattling sound, she would have taken him for dead.

He was covered in sweat, dirt and walker blood - so it had most likely been him who had taken down the one she had seen crumpled on the ground next to the table -, there were several new tears in his shirt and his pants, and the bandage around his thigh, while thankfully still not stained with blood, was caked with dirt now.

Careful to keep her eyes away from the tears in his shirt - she had noticed how much he hated anyone seeing him without his shirt on - she gently touched his shoulder, brushing her hand down over his arm. She had never seen him this exhausted, not even after being tortured and beaten in Woodbury or in the wake of the Governor's attack on the prison, and it frightened her.

.-.

„Daryl." Her voice was a whisper on the wind. He could feel her hand resting on his arm. But his eyelids were so heavy, way too heavy to lift.

„Daryl, you need to wake up. I can't get you down on my own without hurting you more." Was it even her voice? The touch on his arm was gentle, so it had to be. Nobody but her had ever touched him gently in his life.

„Daryl, you have to help me get you off this balcony. We need to get back. Together. Carol will kill me if I come back without you." This, now, came as a surprise. Who was talking to him, if Carol would kill them for coming back without him? It couldn't very well be Carol …?

Disjointed memories flashed through his mind of knifing a walker, climbing onto a table and then pulling himself onto a balcony. Well, that would certainly explain the ache in his arms and back. But what the hell was he doing on a balcony?

Walkers. Roaming a garden. Eating a guy on a sidewalk. One of them coming at him before he could get onto the table.

Had he been bitten?

He was hurtin' like hell from head to toe for some reason - some places more than others. But wouldn't a bite hurt more than all of those aches all over his body? He'd never asked any of those who had been bitten when he'd been around. They had always been too frantic to comfort them in their last moments.

Amy. Jim. Dale. Andrea.

Though, to be honest, he'd been a total ass about Amy and Jim. His shame over how he had behaved when those two had been bitten had him choke. Not much comfort to be had from him, then.

He had stepped up for Dale, doing what Rick had been unable to do at the time, and he still shuddered every time he remembered the gratitude shining in the dying man's eyes as he'd taken Rick's gun and put it to his head before pulling the trigger.

And he'd been good with Andrea, saying a decent good-bye to her, respecting her wish to end it herself with only Michonne by her side.

And Merle.

He had known going out that it might end bad, going after Merle that day. When he'd met Michonne on her way back to the prison, he had been almost certain that it would be bad, but he had never expected such a catastrophic outcome. With Merle, he'd really fucked up royally.

Merle had been beyond comfort when he had found him.

Merle had already turned.

Nobody had been there to save him, if not from dying, then at least from turning into one of those things that he'd hated. A choked sob escaped him as he remembered his brother's mindless yellow eyes hungrily staring at him from a gray face. After all that Merle had done for his baby brother, he had failed him so terribly at the end. He had come too late, and had allowed him to turn.

„Daryl, please! I need to get you back so Hershel can patch you up. You have to help me get you down to the truck!" That pleading voice again, tugging him back from the brink of the darkness threatening to engulf him.


	8. Chapter 8

His eyelids fluttered as his hands tightened on his crossbow, his first instinct prompting him to defend himself. He flinched away from her hand, a look of terror briefly on his face, and her heart clenched with hurt for him. She didn't feel for him the way Carol did, but seeing him this frightened of touch simply becauase he hadn't recognized her yet told her far too much about him.

Then his eyes opened fully and he looked at her, becoming aware again of who she was and where they were, and he slowly sat up, moving like an old man, clearly in pain. When she reached out to help him, though, he once again shied away from her touch, holding up one hand to ward her off.

It shouldn't have surprised her that the first thing he checked was his crossbow, loading it and gently, almost reverently running his hands along the stock and the string to make sure it was okay and would save his life again the next time.

Nor should it have surprised her that he then turned his head to look at her, his eyes red-rimmed and tired beyond belief. „You okay?" His voice was rough, gravelly, giving away what he'd gone through over the past hour even if he wouldn't put it into words. He looked her over, checking for wounds, bites, scratches, and gave a satisfied grunt when she nodded.

Only then did he look down at his thigh, at the bandage caked with soil from the garden, and walker blood, and the rust and grime that had rubbed off from the railing of the balcony, and nodded in satisfaction himself when he found it dirty but still without his own blood.

Using one hand on the railing to lever himself up, he pushed himself to his feet so abruptly that she jerked back from him. Looking down over the railing, he checked out the chair and table arrangement and then moved to swing his bad leg over. Still completely taken aback, Michonne put one hand on his arm, stopping him. „Wait, let me go down first so I can catch you if you slip."

He looked at her as if she'd gone insane. „Got at least thirty pounds on ya, woman, how you gonna stop me?" he grunted and went right on ahead. She watched in disbelief as he secured his crossbow and quiver on his back and then climbed out and down onto the chair and the table and the ground, kicking the walker he'd downed with his left boot before sinking into the lawn chair next to it to wait for her.

Shaking her head, she followed him down, then insisted on helping him get into the car. It surprised her that he allowed this, but then got a look at his face as she helped him walk the few steps to the open passenger door and get into the seat. The expression on his face, the look in his eyes, stopped her from asking.

As he reached for his bow, his hand strayed to his right rear pants pocket, dipping into it very briefly and coming back up empty before he took his bow and quiver down from his back and gently placed them in front of the passenger seat before getting in himself, careful not to put his weight on his left thigh as he slid in. She frowned, but as they were pressed for time and she had no wish to engage in pointless bickering, she again didn't ask. Maybe he was carrying some small piece of equipment for his bow back there that he didn't want to lose.

He stared ahead sightlessly as she got into the driver's seat, started the engine, backed the truck out of the garden and then drove in silence toward the highway. His mind seemed completely blank except for strobelike images of what had happened over the past hour lighting up and blinking out. Despite all that had happened to him in the past, this run-in with a group apparently specifically hunting and capturing people had been too close for his liking. Add to that the hole torn into his leg and he'd had one hell of a day. He shuddered at the thought of Hershel cleaning out that wound.

When they passed the village where they'd been ambushed, they saw two cars coming toward them at high speed, each with two passengers in addition to the drivers as far as they could tell at this distance. Daryl perked up, glancing at Michonne and then reaching down for his bow, keeping his eyes on the approaching cars all the time. His mind was racing.

Meeting other people had become a memorable occasion. Meeting other people also travelling by car had become extraordinary. Not only had the people to drive them become pretty rare, but so had the cars themselves, with many broken down, cannibalized for parts, or just stranded with empty gas tanks. Maintenance for the more recent model cars had become impossible what with the computers required to decipher the service messages from the cars' computers all out of commission by now. Gas as well as spare parts for car maintenance had become precious trade items, worth almost as much as food. You had them, you held on to them.

Meeting four cars in the same area in one day had become a statistical impossibility.

These people belonged to the same group as their ambushers. He just knew it.

„Take the next exit." His voice was tight with restrained panic. „Try not to slow down too much for the turn. Don't look at ‚em when ya turn. Once you've turned, floor it. We need to fuckin' lose these guys."

She cast him a curious glance. „How do you know they're dangerous?"

„I jus' do. Don't ask. Do it." Tight-lipped, he squinted at the approaching cars while keeping his head down as far as possible, even though at this point he no longer believed these guys would just let them drive their merry way for the exact same reasons that he knew that meeting them here, now, was not a coincidence. If the people they had killed back there had been supposed to be back at a certain time, the occupants of the cars following them now, here, would know that he and Michonne had something to do with their not doing so.

His right index finger curled and uncurled around the trigger of his crossbow and his entire body was coiled with anticipation.

Michonne jerked the steering wheel around for a sharp and fast right turn roughly half a mile away from the two oncoming cars and he was thrown to the left in his seat, putting his weight on his bad thigh. He never batted an eye. He was so focused on what was going on behind them that he never seemed to notice his weight shifting. His eyes were on the passenger rearview mirror now, and his arms broke out in goosebumps when he saw both cars swinging into their road to follow them.


	9. Chapter 9

„Floor it. Now. All out. You buckled up?" he asked tightly, reaching behind his seat for his rifle and into the passenger door compartment for the ammo to reload it. She nodded wordlessly, her eyes flicking from the street to her mirrors and back, fully focused on driving - she was going 80 miles and hour now and didn't want to run them off the road. At least, from what she could discern in her mirrors at this speed, they were not gaining on her.

„What do we do? You can't get out of the car again, you're too exhausted." She cast him a brief glance before looking at the street ahead again. He was still pale but no longer listless, his eyes also going back and forth between the street and his mirror. He was gnawing on the skin of his thumb, the skin around his eyes tight with concentration.

„Remember the railroad overpass in the next town? With the wide columns supporting it, and the parking lot underneath? Maybe we can lose ‚em there?" Not content with his view in the mirror, he turned his head to look back over his shoulder in order to assess how much of a lead they had. The two cars were now racing after them at nearly the same speed as theirs, but still not gaining on them.

He slammed his fist into the dashboard in frustration, splitting the skin over two of his knuckles, then grabbed his bow from the floor. Michonne's eyes widened. She had heard stories of the famous Dixon temper, most of them dating back to the time before the prison when, apparently, he had still been more of a squirrel-throwing hothead, but she had yet to witness it for herself. It seemed that the day's events had gotten to him to such a degree that he was caving now.

„Daryl -„ she began, trying to sound as soothing as possible, but he was having none of it.

„No!" he yelled. „We had enough shit to deal with, looking for that dickhead! We don't need this! We can't … I can't …" Surprisingly, his voice broke on the last word as he hung his head, his fingers drumming restlessly on the stock of his crossbow. He was tensely wired and ready to snap, much like a bowstring himself.

„We'll lose them, Daryl. But where do we go? We have to lose them for good, and nowhere near the prison - we don't want these people to find it." From the corner of her eyes she saw his head coming up again, a look of defiance on his face now. „So? Where? You've been here longer. You've been on runs. Tell me."

„We need to find a patrol car", he said tensely. „Rick once told me about a car that he and Shane had to stop. They used some sort of spiky roadblock that they placed on the road. It shredded the car's tires and all they had ta do was wait for their men to come out and pick 'em off, one by one. That's what we'll do." He looked at her, his look intense. „They can't live. They can't find our home." For a moment, all he saw was Carol's face, but he blinked fursiously - he needed to concentrate here. No distractions.

„Once we find one of those things, we go to that overpass. Hide the truck, put the barrier in place and wait for them to run over it and get out - if they still can. The car in Rick's story flipped over." Grabbing his rifle, he made certain once more that the clip was fully loaded, then checked hers as well as he went on. „They get out, we get some target practice. We can't let ‚em get away to find the prison." The thought of these people getting their hands on Carol made his blood run cold. There was no way he would allow that.

Michonne nodded slowly. „Sounds like a plan. Did all police cars carry that road block thing?" She was worried that they'd spend time and fuel looking for that device and ultimately run out of both without accomplishing what they were setting out to do.

„Dunno", he mumbled. „Guess we could use broken glass or metal shards as well." He was gnawing on his lip and his good leg was bouncing with nervous energy. She wondered how he was doing it - getting into the car earlier after the shootout at the OK Corral had nearly done him in, and here he was, practically jumping in his seat. And then it clicked home.

She herself had thought earlier that getting between him and Carol in an all or nothing situation would be lethal. This was it, now. He was seeing these people as a direct threat to Carol. And he was right. Bile rose in her throat. Carl. Judith. The Samuels sisters. Patrick - not quite a child any longer, but by no means an adult either. So many children. So many oldsters, too. What would happen to them if these people back there were to ever find the prison?

They had to be stopped.

.-.

Miraculously, they had found the patrol car - with its occupants hanging out of its doors to the left and right, both still restrained by their seat belts, both snapping at them viciously as they approached, as the bullets that had killed them had only riddled their chests - within ten minutes of Daryl outlining his plan. While Michonne looked out for their pursuers, the car idling, Daryl got out, put down the driver's walker and reached in for the lever to pop the trunk. He was delighted to find a metal box labeled „Traffic Spikes" in it and got right back to Michonne who put the engine back in gear and got them moving again while he was still yanking his door closed.

Because of their excessive speed they were kicking up an impressive dust cloud that seemed like a beacon to Daryl - and sure enough, the two cars following them showed up behind them just as they turned the next corner. Opening the box to inspect its contents, he found a collapsed metal strip with sharp-tipped spikes embedded in it that would shred the tires of any vehicle running over it. Grinning viciously, he closed the box. „Overpass", he said curtly.


	10. Chapter 10

Michonne nodded, taking another turn after making sure that their pursuers were close enough to see where they were going. Now that they had managed to procure what they needed without being observed while getting it, they needed to make sure that these people didn't lose them. They had to keep them from starting to search the area and finding the prison at all cost. They might have walkie talkies or CB radios to keep in contact with their home base, and whoever was at that home base must not learn of the prison.

Daryl was fiddling with the locks of the traffic spikes box, unable to sit still. His right leg still bouncing up and down as it had been ever since he'd gotten back into the car, he reached into one of his pants pockets and got out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, he read it, frowned, then folded it again and put it back. „You brought a shopping list?" she asked, surpised. He hadn't consulted this when it would have made sense - while they had been out searching houses. He just shook his head, frowning some more, and she let it go. Maybe someone needed something that they didn't want to be public knowledge - and if there was one thing Daryl excelled at, it was not talking about stuff.

They were approaching the village with the train tracks running across its eastern edge on an overpass, held aloft by a dozen sturdy reinforced concrete columns, easily wide enough to hide their truck behind. The road leading into the village cut through one corner of the space created by this huge building; the rest had been used for a parking lot for the adjacent supermarket on the edge of the village and was subdivided by lattice walls set on concrete bases - similar to the one Michonne had hidden behind earlier, just larger - that were overgrown with climbing plants, all of them dead now.

The lattices were still good for hiding behind them, though, so once she reached the overpass, about a mile ahead of their pursuers, Michonne stopped the truck behind the first column to let Daryl get out. Yanking the spike strip, his bow and his rifle out with him, he hopped out, closed his door and limped off toward the next column on the right. Michonne immediately continued onto the parking lot and stopped the car behind the nearest column. Grabbing her rifle, she got out and ran toward Daryl who was unfolding the traffic spikes.

As he looked up, panting with exertion again, she grabbed the end of the spike band he wasn't holding and ran across the street with it. As soon as she reached the opposite sidewalk they both let go of it and went off in opposite directions, each of them hunkering down behind one of the lattice dividers - and just in time, too, as their pursuers were now approaching the overpass.

Daryl held his breath as the cars raced toward them, quickly glancing around one last time. The truck was nowhere in sight. The road continued on into the village and those murderous bastards had to assume that they had taken it. There was nothing to indicate to the drivers that it might be better to stop - and they didn't. The first car ran over the traffic spikes at full speed to spectacular results. There was a loud bang, followed immediately by another one, as all four of the car's tires blew in pairs, catapulting it off the street. It flipped over in midair, landing on its roof with a loud crash of splintering glass and the screech of overstressed metal.

The driver of the second car nearly ran it off the street with shock, then tried to stop in time, but he was going too fast and ran over the spikes at considerable speed, blowing his own tires as well. As he had not been going at quite the same speed as the first car, he didn't flip over but the car just slithered and shuddered to a stop, crashing into the first one with its rear end. The driver and passenger airbags exploded into their faces while the man in the back seat was thrown face first into the driver's headrest, his head flopping bonelessly to the side immediately after impact. First one down already, without a single shot fired, Daryl noted.

Adrenaline making his hands shake, Daryl trained his crossbow at the first car. Here, too, the driver and passenger airbags had opened but weren't blocking the view of those two as they were still upside down in their seats, restrained by their seatbelts. They seemed quite dazed, though, shaking their heads and obviously still trying to get their bearings. The passenger on the back seat of the first car had already succeeded in opening his seatbelt and had crumpled on the roof, rocking the wreck as he tried to kick open his door.

Realizing that he'd only waste a good bolt if he loosed it at an intact window, probably ruining it in the process, Daryl exchanged his bow for the rifle, took aim and gently squeezed the trigger, careful to not shoot more than once. The rear passenger window shattered into a million pieces and the passenger's blood sprayed the car when Daryl's bullet hit home. Exhaling slowly, Daryl watched as the driver of the first car reached for his hip and got hold of a handgun, looking around for someone to aim at. Well, this wouldn't fly.

Carefully taking aim again, his hands perfectly steady now even though his breathing was way too fast and ragged again, Daryl squeezed the trigger once more, hitting the driver in the face. The passenger started wailing as the man next to him died, expecting to be next. Unfortunately, though, the door frames were blocking Daryl's shot at the passenger; either Michonne would need to take him out or he would have to wait for the man to make his way out of the car - unless they managed to take out the remaining two from the second car first, in which case Daryl was prepared to get out of hiding and let the man see who was killing him as he got himself a clear shot.

By now, the airbags in the second car were deflating and the driver and passenger started fighting against their seatbelts and their skewed doors, scrambling to get out of their vehicle. They had heard the shots and wanted out so they could start looking for the fuckhead taking out their people. The passenger was first to get out, and he was stopped short as Michonne got him with a shot to the stomach, even as he started turning around to look for them. He fired one shot that grazed her left shoulder before she took him out with a headshot.

The driver started screaming as well now, his door exploding outward with one final kick, and he launched himself from his seat, still in shock and wobbling on this feet from the crash. Drawing a Colt, he started weaving his way toward Daryl's hiding place, completely unaware that he was even approaching their assailant. Grabbing his crossbow, Daryl slowly got to his feet and limped around the divider, his bow up and ready. When the driver saw him, he got off one panicked shot without aiming properly, still disoriented and shaking from the crash he'd been in, so he only caught Daryl in his upper right arm. He was looking Daryl right in the eye, his own eyes wide and frightened, when the bolt hit him in the forehead.

Looking across at Michonne who had also come out of hiding, Daryl nodded at her and she took the final shot, taking out the passenger of the first car before he ever got out of his seat. She gave him a respectful nod as she started collecting the weapons their opponents had dropped. „Great plan, perfect execution", she commented, the double entendre not lost on him - and he assumed it was not coincidence, either. She was wicked, this one.

Leaning against the divider he had been hiding behind, he watched her gathering the weapons and getting the traffic spikes ready to pack into their box again. „These might come in handy next time", she said as she deposited everything at his feet. „Let me just get the truck while you wait here." Looking at his arm which had meanwhile started bleeding, she added: „I'll dig out the first aid kit again."

„Yeah, won't run away, I promise", he mumbled sarcastically. Getting his rifle from behind the divider, he started cleaning it with his faded and frayed red rag while she got the car and found space in it for the traffic spikes - he was exhausted, injured and in pain and she didn't want him to balance the heavy box on his thighs again, as he had on the way here. When she was done, she patiently waited for him to make his way back into his seat, his face so fierce and determined that she realized he would not accept help this time around.

Just as he was about to get in he heard a squawking sound from the second car, followed by a static crackle. He squinted at the car, then at Michonne, his face alarmed. „They got radio", he mumbled, dumping his crossbow and the traffic spikes on the passenger seat. „I got this." Limping over to the car, he bent down to look at the dashboard through the open door on the driver's side. His mouth curled in disgust when it saw it was switched to broadcasting automatically, realizing that the people at the other end had probably heard their gunfight. Raising his rifle, he slienced it with one shot before returning to their truck.


	11. Chapter 11

She stopped one last time before leaving - but just for a minute. Getting out of the car with her rifle as Daryl stowed the traffic spikes behind his seat, she crouched next to the overturned car and leaned in. The radio she saw in the dashboard was dark and probably wasn't working any longer, but she didn't intend to take any chances - maybe it would help those left behind at these guys' home base locate the wreck if she didn't „kill" this as surely as the car's occupants. Gently squeezing the trigger, she disintegrated the remains of the radio, then fluidly rose to her feet and got back into the truck. Once her rifle was back in its place behind her, she handed Daryl the first aid kit and got going.

Neither of them spoke as he worked to put a dressing and bandage on his arm. Once he was finished, he made her stop for five minutes to take care of the graze on her left shoulder. His face was grim as they found their way back to the prison. „So, first group called the second one in as reinforcements", he growled after five minutes of silence as they got closer to their home again. „Used the radio to direct ‚em to a rendezvous point, or they'd never have found us so quickly. We need ta look out for these people."

She nodded, expression stormy, and added: „They're more dangerous than the Governor, even - they're so organized and prepared, they got backup …" Her voice trailed off as she thought about the encounter for a moment. „Did they watch us before we came to that village? Follow us, maybe? They seem to deliberately set traps for complete strangers, random people passing by - but for what purpose? What would they have done with us?"

„Can't be just our stuff", he mumbled, checking the bandage on his leg before looking ahead again, feeling paranoid about seeing more cars coming up. „If it had jus' been our stuff they coulda just shot us." Looking at her, he caught and held her eyes for a second, an extremely rare occasion, she realized, before looking down at his hands again, worrying the skin on his thumb with the nail of his index finger. It looked raw already. „They went outta their way to get us alive. What can you do with live people that you can't do with corpses?"

She throught about this for long minutes, then shook her head. „I have no idea, but we need to warn everyone who ever goes out on supply runs about these people. We must not run into them again or they'll make sure to catch us the next time and get revenge for the two groups we've taken out." With a sideways glance at him, she added: „If they mentioned it on their radio, your crossbow's a dead giveaway, you know?" He nodded wordlessly, staring ahead, expecting to see dust trails kicked up by more cars coming to hunt them. The numbness in his leg was receding, and the tear in his thigh as well as the hole in his arm were throbbing in time with his heartbeat. The bullet lodged against his humerus hurt like a bitch.

After another twenty minutes by the clock in the dash they got their first sight of the prison, and Michonne spoke up again. "No getting out of the truck this time, Dixon. You've already lost blood, and that leg might still start to bleed if you tear anything in there, after the stunt you pulled at that balcony." He had finally phased out aagain, similar to his condition after they had disposed of the first group of thugs, and just nodded numbly. God, Carol was going to chew her out once Hershel confirmed that Daryl would live.

Another five minutes later they reached the prison and Daryl grabbed his bow from the floor, a soft groan escaping him as he moved - his whole body was stiffening up now from the ordeal he had put it through. Rick and Carl opened the inner and outer gates for them while Sasha and Tyreese drew away any walkers that might feel inclined to follow the car into the yard, banging crowbars against the fence posts to the right and left of the gates.

Michonne saw Carol waiting off to one side of the inner gate as she always did whenever Daryl returned to the prison, and her face turned pale when Michonne didn't stop the truck between gates to give Daryl time to get out.

Daryl caught her eyes and nodded at her when she was looking straight at him as if to ask what was wrong. He managed a tired gesture taking in all of himself to convey that their hunt hadn't gone too well, but by then Michonne had put her foot down on the gas pedal again and they were leaving her behind.

Michonne continued up the gravel driveway to the entrance of the cellblock, killed the engine and climbed out. Walking around the nose of the truck, she first banged one fist against the door, calling for Hershel, and then opened the passenger door and leaned in to help Daryl. He flinched away when she tried to grab his arm and looked up at her with a stubborn expression on his face, but he finally conceded defeat and allowed her to help him out.

The door to their cellblock opened and Hershel looked out just as Carol reached the car and stared in shock at Daryl, who looked as if he was coming back from a warzone - leaning on Michonne, favoring his left leg on which he was wearing a bandage that was even dirtier than the rest of him, and cradling his bandaged right arm to his chest. The bandage on his arm was leaking by now, thin trails of blood running down and dripping off his elbow. "How bad? What happened? Has he been …?" she whispered, unable to complete the sentence, her lips white. Daryl felt like a piece of crap for scaring her like this. He shook his head. „Ain't been bit, ‚m fine", he mumbled, never realizing how ludicrous this sounded with him looking like this.

"He fell into a trap, some sort of shaft with the cover set up to give way under him, and it slashed into his thigh. Right after that we had a kind of high noon showdown with the group that had prepared the trap, complete with a car chase, and then we had another shootout with the group the first one called in as reinforcements", Michonne explained, looking at Hershel. "Cleaning that cut will be hell, and the bullet is still stuck in his arm, but I think that's the only physical damage he's taken."

"Get him into emergency, please", Hershel asked her, raising an eyebrow at the distinction she was making with regard to the damage done to their hunter, and then continued, looking at Carol, "and I'd appreciate if you could assist me to keep him calm. He seems quite out of it just now, but that might change."

Face still white with shock from seeing him injured, Carol nodded wordlessly and moved to Daryl's right side to relieve him of his bow and get under his arm to support him. His fingers dug into her shoulder painfully as if he needed to physically reassure himself that she was real and that he had truly made it back. Recalling his struggle to get onto the balcony, and the ferocious commitment of the people hunting them, he found it hard to believe he had really made it back home again.

Carol's blood ran cold at seeing him like this. What had happened on that run?


	12. Chapter 12

When they started walking, slowly following Hershel who had already disinfected his hands and put on gloves and was busy getting one of his surgery trays by the time they arrived, she realized that he was leaning on the two of them with nearly all of his weight. He grunted with the effort of moving his injured leg every time he dragged it forward. Once they reached Hershel's table Michonne let go of Daryl and stepped back, giving him space, and Carol carefully helped him climb onto the table and lie down.

Turning on his one remaining foot, Hershel set his covered tray down on the small table next to Daryl and slid onto his stool while Carol leaned over Daryl, who had closed his eyes as soon as his head had touched the table. She whispered that she was removing the bandage on his leg and taking off his pants now to give Hershel access to the cut in his thigh. Hearing her voice, Daryl nodded numbly. But as soon as she started working his pants down over his narrow hips he got agitated, finally reaching back for his pants pocket with his face contorting in pain as he strained the gunshot wound in his bicep.

His hand came back forward in a tight fist, and after that he quieted down and let her work, relaxing enough for her to continue undressing him. Once his thigh was exposed, she sucked in a lungful of air at the sight of the long, jagged horizontal tear in his skin. It still wasn't bleeding, but she could see pine needles, small leaves, and grit stuck under the loose flap of skin and fat covering the hole, and instantly felt sick to her stomach.

Fighting to regain control of herself and her fear for him, she asked Hershel if she should start working on Daryl's arm, and he told her to go ahead. She removed the soaked bandage, competently dug out the bullet with a pair of tweezers while doing her best to ignore his contorted face and low grunts of pain, cleaned and stitched him up and bandaged his arm properly. More than ever, she was grateful for the medical training she was receiving from Hershel every time someone came in injured. She just wished it weren't Daryl so often.

In the meantime, Hershel placed clean sheets over Daryl's left leg and abdomen, uncovered his tray, got a syringe out of its sterile packaging and carefully injected Daryl with a local anaestetic all around the gash to numb his thigh, six pinpricks in all, before he started to work on it.

Once Daryl no longer reacted to Hershel touching his leg, he pulled up the flap of tissue to get a closer look at what he was faced with. First he removed the larger things - leaves, needles, small stones - with a pair of tweezers, then grabbed a squeeze bottle of boiled water and superficially cleaned the wound by squirting water into it. Next, he used a scalpel to cut out dirt as well as tissue smashed beyond healing, cleaning the wound until he was reasonably certain that there was no danger of Daryl tearing any major blood vessels as long as he took it slowly and it was clean enough to be sure it wouldn't start festering after he'd closed it.

Rick showed up, an extremely worried expression on his face, explaining that Michonne had told him that Daryl had been injured, but Hershel assured him that their hunter would be okay and would only need a few days of rest to give his injuries time to start healing. To maintain Daryl's privacy he then sent Rick off again, asking him to come back later to help get their patient to his bed. By now, he'd started stitching Daryl up, finally handing the needle to Carol to finish the job.

Both Hershel and Carol noted with amazement how some of the tension seemed to drain right out of Daryl as soon as it was Carol alone working on him instead of just assisting Hershel. While he had managed to open up cosiderably to the members of their family, an older man touching his body as he lay injured and helpless still threw him back, trapping him in his past. He started mumbling about walkers and someone getting eaten on a sidewalk, a radio and reinforcements, until Carol gently ran one hand down his good arm and whispered that he was home and safe with them. Only then did he manage to truly calm down.

Carol carefully dressed and bandaged his thigh, which was turning black and blue by now, while Hershel gently inspected Daryl's hip and knee to find out if the joints had been damaged by the jolt they'd suffered at the impact of the shaft cover. He made sure to finish quickly for the aneasthetic was beginning to wear off. When Hershel helped him sit up on the table once they were both done, Daryl groaned with pain, his whole body aching, and Hershel all but forced him to wash down some painkillers with a glass of water.

Rick returned and assisted Carol in getting the younger Dixon off the table, draping a sheet around his hips as his pants were beyond rescue, and supported him on the way up to his cell and onto his cot. Rick told him to stay put and heal quickly while Carol announced that she'd get him some water and be back right away. With Rick in his cell anyway, Daryl took the opportunity to fill him in on the nature of the group they had met, explaining to what extreme lengths they had gone to capture them alive.

„We find any people that set traps, we need ta take them out, all of ‚em", he said tensely, clearly agitated as he squinted up at Rick. „They sent _thirteen_ people to catch the two of us, and half of them only when they thought we were getting away. I dunno what they woulda done with us, but it can't be good." His eyes seemed to drill holes into Rick now. „They must _never_ find the prison."

Reaching out with his right hand, or rather, fist, he pulled open the drawer of his small bedside table doubling as a nightstand with one hooked finger, dropped whatever was in his fist into it, closed the drawer with a pained grimace and rested his arm on the cot again with a relieved sigh. „Leader's name is Gareth, and they're afraid as hell of him." Now he raised his head, still holding Rick's eyes. The tension in the cell was almost palpable as he added: „These were some ruthless pricks, and if they're that afraid of their leader, he's gotta be a piece of work - Randall, Governor, they got nothin' on him." Rick, deeply alarmed, assured him he'd brief everyone going on runs from now on to look out for these people, and Daryl managed to relax after that.

When Carol returned after a few minutes with a bottle of water and a plate of food, he was calmer than before, and Rick left them alone once she told him she'd sit with Daryl and make sure he had everything he needed. Carol's heart ached when she looked down at their battered hunter. Daryl's open, empty hands rested on the covers beside him and his eyes were closed. There were dark circles under them, and she hoped that he'd be able to get in a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Hearing her set the plate on his nightstand with a clinking sound, he opened his eyes once more. „‚ve put it away, it's safe", he mumbled, his speech slightly slurred with exhaustion and the added effect of the painkiller. Although she had no idea what he might be talking about, she told him that was great and asked if it would be okay to clean him off a little more as he was still quite dirty. With a weary nod he said that yes, it was okay, then mumbled: "Didn't think I'd make it back for some time there." He hesitated briefly, then added, softly: „Sorry if I scared ya."

Her vision blurred with tears as she finally gave in to her emotions. "You had me quite scared for a while", she admitted. „When you got out of the car, the blood on your arm … the bandages … Not knowing if you'd been -„ She closed her eyes, unable to breathe as she remembered how the fear of a bite under one of those bandages had kindled panic and the chold ache of loss inside her.

She made a conscious effort to calm down and gently started wiping down his good arm with the wet towel she had brought back. „But you're good now. Hershel says you'll heal just fine if we manage to keep the wounds from getting infected. All he's really worried about now is you getting antsy again by tomorrow." She managed a brief smile before turning serious again. „I'll forgive you for scaring me - just promise that you'll take better care of yourself."

"Can't", he mumbled, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He seemed to be already asleep from the way he looked. "But I c'n promise I'll try. Tried like hell today. Even climbed a balcony to get away from walkers and murderers. That good 'nuff for ya?" He already sounded playful again, probably because the painkiller was working, and she was infinitely grateful for the effort he was making for her here. He certainly looked as if he'd gone through hell and back today.

"You're right, my man of honor, you shouldn't make promises you can't keep", she whispered, aware, just as he was, that one day she would wait for him in vain, that one day he would not make it back, no matter how hard he tried. And it wouldn't even necessarily be his fault - that was just the way the world worked these days. "I'll be good if you promise to try."

"Alright, then", he murmured, clearly on the verge of sleep now, "I promise ta be more careful, Carol." His use of her name brought tears to her eyes again. He said it rarely, at least to her, as if it was too precious to use every day, and her breath caught in her throat every time he said it. He always gave her the impression when saying it of treating himself to something special, giving a gift not so much to her as to himself.

She reached out and gently took his dirty right hand, curled up on his stomach now, and squeezed it briefly, overjoyed when he didn't flinch away or tense up from her touch. Leaning down, she brought her mouth close to his ear, his longish hair tickling her nose, and whispered: "I'll hold you to it."

Feeling her next to him, he finally allowed himself to let go, one corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly even as he fell asleep.


End file.
